


dreams on such a night

by wheredwellthe_brave_atheart



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart/pseuds/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pevensies take Eustace and Jill to a dance hall in early 1942, and the night is full of music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dreams on such a night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Chronicles of Narnia world, created by C.S.Lewis. I do not claim ownership over the word or any characters used. I am not profiting in any way from this work, it is my own invention and for entertainment only, and it is not purported to be a part of C.S. Lewis’s official story line. 
> 
> Here, I picture Peter as nineteen, Susan as eighteen, Edmund as sixteen, Lucy as fifteen, and Eustace and Jill as fourteen.I mess around with aspects of both the book and movie universes.

As we approach the entrance of the raucous hall, (marching) side by side (into battle), I hold back a step and let my cousins enter first. It's a habit I've gotten into since returning to England the second time - deferring automatically to my (kings and queens) relatives. It's so instinctual I wonder how I managed to be so unobservant regarding their true natures before. The four people (rulers) before me assume their mantles as monarchs even here in England. It's in their very skin - there's a kind of glow that emanates, that shines from behind their (too-old) eyes. Peter, with his chin lifted and his shoulders back, holds the door for Susan, but he receives no word of thanks from his (generally) graceful sister, and she sweeps through the entrance, throwing (the High King) Peter a scathing glance that quite literally seems to strike him across the face. They are fighting again; these days it's the simplest things that can set them off - Peter's quick temper battling with Susan's terrific capability to hold a grudge. Edmund's explained that this time it's because Peter told Susan he had no intention of changing his mind regarding his enlistment, a fact which infuriates his (clearly worried) sister. After Peter gives up and strides inside with a clenched jaw, Edmund and Lucy step through together, shoulder to shoulder, each pushing open one of the double-doors to allow a blast of the band's lively beat to waft over me. I'd never been to a dance hall before (Narnia) the war, but my cousins have since managed to persuade me to accompany them when they go. They love dancing, every one of them, even Peter and Edmund, while I had remained firmly convinced before this past (adventure) year that dancing was a feminine and frivolous past-time. Now, however, I see exactly what entices them - there is something very (Narnian) exciting about the band, the crowds, the hall, and the euphoria of forgetting the (past) war. Tonight the band is playing one of Lucy's favourites, one of Benny Goodman's new hits - "The King Porter Stomp", I think. Lucy laughs and grabs Ed's hand to drag him toward the centre of the dizzying crowd as the tune picks up, she already flushed with happiness and he red for another reason altogether. I've already lost sight of the elder Pevensie siblings, but I've no doubt I'll run into them again as the evening goes on. For now, I make my way towards the tables lined across the back of the hall, where I promised I'd meet Jill.  
...  
"...and their wings are all sharp, right, really thin and pointed, and they're pretty small, only about half an inch all the way round, and they've these pincers that- Oh. Er, I've been talking about insects for a quarter of an hour, haven't I, Pole." I turn to Jill, sheepish.  
She giggles and glances at the clock. "Just about, Scrubb. But it's fine, really. We're going to be here a while, anyway, I'd imagine. Your cousins never run out of ways to pass the time here."  
She's right. Peter is currently being surrounded (suffocated) by a gaggle of pretty blondes with long legs; his head rises above theirs, adding to the effect. He keeps switching directions, struggling to pay attention to all of them simultaneously, very much the High King holding court with fawning subjects. And over by the door, fights are practically breaking out over which bloke gets to offer Susan a light every time she reaches for a cigarette. She looks nothing short of exhausted by their antics, but she doesn't do anything to discourage them, really. A bored Queen at a lavish ball.  
I study them; the way they seem raw and bruised, the way they are jammed into (bodies) roles that are wrong, rubbing against everything painfully. They stick out, shrouded specters among a riot of colour.  
But England during the war is now a land full of very young widows and widowers. I suppose the elder Pevensies do blend into that crowd.  
...  
As the evening wears on, I stand around quite a lot, dance a bit more with Jill (we manage an approximation of the jitterbug with Lucy and Edmund), drink some (terrible) punch and enjoy the band, who really are quite good, in my opinion. At around half past nine, I think, Jill is a quarter of the way through what is quite probably a rehearsed monologue about the evils of all maths, and all maths teachers, when Edmund appears at my shoulder to say "Might I interrupt for a moment, Jill?", causing Jill to start and spill most of her punch on my shoes, as Edmund has the quietest tread of anyone I've ever known.  
"Oh - I'm sorry, Scrubb!" Jill says, holding back a laugh. "Of course, Edmund, of course."  
Edmund, who is also smirking wickedly at the sopping state of my attire, says "I just wanted to ask whether you could tell Lucy I've gone to talk with Susan. She went to the loo and now I can't find her."  
Mopping up my pants leg, I manage a "Yeah, course" in reply, so Ed thanks me, winks conspiratorially at Jill, and strides off, disappearing into the heaving crowd.  
"Here", Jill softens, watching me struggle,"There'll be some napkins in the back, and we'll find Lucy." She leads the way, skipping slightly in time with the jazzy tune playing. 

We do manage to find a pitiful array of paper napkins on one of the tables, and we also track down Lucy and deliver our message. We talk for a while, until she asks "Jill, how's that terrible maths teacher coming along?" and I have no choice but to spare Lucy and drag Jill away. In fact, so intent am I on preventing a repeat performance of "Why Jill Pole, Age 14, Should Absolutely Not Be Forced To Take Maths Lessons", I don't notice until we're almost on top of them that Edmund has indeed found Susan, and together they are performing a perfectly synchronized rock-step-spin combination that has the crowd around them cheering and clapping along.  
"They are very alike, Susan and Edmund, don't you think?" Jill remarks, without taking her eyes off them."In their manner, I mean. Very sophisticated and smart. They even look alike. All tall and thin and dark-haired."  
I lean closer to her and murmur "You know, all that's part of why they were so successful at-" I glance around me once before continuing, "At diplomacy, and espionage, in particular. Together, I mean. Because they clearly make quite a team."  
Jill nods thoughtfully and replies in equally hushed tones, "Yes. I expect they could be quite terrifying." She says this with such conviction that, even as I watch the pair dance the Lindy Hop, I have to agree with her. For these two are not Peter and Lucy, who burn quick and hot; with fiery tempers and bursts of joy that fluctuate with the wind. They are the subtler half, the shadows, with slowly burning, smoldering, smoking flames that lie in wait for the opportune moment to roar. Even now, though they seem to be carousing with abandon, I watch their control, their oh-so-carefully choreographed movements. I know them - at least, I know them well enough, to see that Susan and Edmund are actually conversing, in their own private shorthand; with low tones and slight nods, sharp glances and eyebrow raises that would put silent film stars to shame. Susan looks distraught - they're probably discussing the war, particularly Peter's enlistment, as well as their own goals for the months to come. Planning, as always. 

I remember not only Edmund's skill with a sword, and their tales of Susan's talent for archery, but also the stories of Susan and Edmund's carefully controlled web of spies, agents, diplomats, ambassadors, and messengers. I can't help but wonder how the two will put those talents to use here in this world.  
...  
Soon it's almost eleven o'clock; I look around for the Pevensies, wondering if they are planning to leave soon. I haven't seen them in a while; perhaps they're ready to go home?  
No such luck - just then I glimpse Peter and Susan cramped in a shadowy corner of the hall, clearly arguing. No doubt they're picking up where they left off earlier this evening. Peter gestures frantically, raising his voice, and Susan visibly shakes with (fear) rage, turning her face away. I valiantly try to steer Jill in another direction, hoping she won't catch sight of the pair, but to no avail - she too notices the tension (love) that's almost palpable between the two.  
"Are they alright?" She inquires as she catches sight of them. "They look positively broken-hearted."  
My stomach lurches a bit as I glimpse Susan whispering fiercely, with tears dripping down her face, yanking her arm (heart) out of Peter's would-be consolatory grip.  
"They've been out of sorts lately," I mutter. "Peter's enlisted." It doesn't require a great deal of explanation, but Jill's stopped dancing anyway.  
"Right," she accepts, turning away."I see".  
And I know she does.  
I'm startled at the applause that erupts as the band finishes the song, and I watch as Susan breaks away and stalks past Lucy, who is shrieking, having just been lifted into the air by a grinning Edmund.  
"Not strictly part of the Charleston," I remark to Jill, all the while remembering Ed and Lu executing almost the exact same lift on the deck of the Dawn Treader one scorching hot and sun-drenched afternoon, as the light bounced in equal measure off the waves and off Lucy's red-gold hair, as Edmund tilted his head back and let out a great shout of laughter, as Caspian danced jokingly with Nausus and everyone was cheering.  
"No," Jill agrees, having spotted them as well. "But it was lovely."  
...  
I'm just in the back toilets washing my hands - one does have to be careful about proper hygiene in these public places, you know - when who should barge in but Peter; red-faced and careless, clearly furious, shaking off his jacket and yanking at his tie knot. To my great surprise, he is followed by an irate Lucy.  
"Lucy!" I exclaim. "This is the men's toilet!"  
She dismisses this point with a wave of her hand. "I know, I know, but I needed to bring him somewhere we could properly talk. He needs to calm down," she explains, checking the toilet for other occupants.  
Yes. These two do not communicate subtly in the middle of a crowded room. This is their way.  
Peter doesn't seem to notice me, as he is leaning slumped against the back wall and covering his face with his hands. "Lu, Lu, Lu," he groans, "What do I have to say? What do I have to do?" He slides further down the wall, dejected.  
She sighs and walks over to him, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder. "Well, you know what she wants-"  
Peter stands upright, eyes flashing. "Yes, I do, but she should know it's not going to happen! How could I possibly sit here and let others fight for me? I don't understand! How many times did she send me off to battle before? How many times did she go to battle with me?" 

I'm standing frozen against the sinks, unsure of how or when to exit. The Pevensies are always so careful - I've hardly ever heard Peter speak this passionately about- about this aspect of their rule. 

Lucy is clearly trying desperately to make him understand. "Yes, but Peter, that's different-"  
Peter gesticulates wildly as he retorts, "I don't see how! It was far more dangerous at home, we were the monarchs, for Aslan's sake! We were the targets! We had more to lose!"

My breath feels stuck in my chest at the pain in Peter's voice, and the want in Lucy's eyes when he speaks of 'home'. 

And then- 

"Peter Pevensie, don't you dare try to tell me you have nothing to lose here," Lucy says quietly, staring him down.  
Peters sighs, deflating. "No, of course not. I'm sorry, Lucy."  
She accepts the apology as a Queen. "That's quite alright," she says, nodding.  
"But Peter, can't you see she's terrified for you? We all are!"  
"But why-"  
"Because, Peter, everything is different here!" Lucy surges with emotion."You don't know how to fight this war. The weapons, the land, the army, your role in it, everything is different! You won't march into Europe and go cut Hitler's head off with your sword!"

My sharp intake of breath must remind the siblings of where they are. No doubt the expression on my face is something to behold.

"Sorry, Eustace," Lucy continues more quietly. Turning back to Peter, she says, "I know you have to fight. I accept that. Ed is going spare, he's desperate to go with you, and if he was old enough here, he would. And yes, all three of us, Susan included, have plans for this year, and the next, and for as long as this war lasts. So I understand why you're frustrated, Peter, I do. And I don't expect you to change course, and neither does she, really. A part of her just wishes you would, that's all."

A long moment passes before Peter speaks. "She really does plan to-"  
Lucy cuts him off sharpish. "Yes, but quiet here, Peter." She turns to face me and reaches out a hand. "Come on," she says, smiling. "We've trapped Eustace in a toilet for long enough."  
I chuckle (Peter manages a half-smile) and we follow her out.  
...  
I return to full alertness with a start- Jill and I sat down a few minutes ago, spent, and, at least on my part, wishing to rest my feet, and the band has slowed down and I obviously was lulled into half-sleep for a moment or two. Jill seems quite bleary as well, judging by the enormous yawn she tries to hide behind her hand. The hall is basically empty now, with only a few stragglers left gathering their coats. The band is playing what I presume to be the final song of the evening. It's slow, and melancholy, but rather good all the same.  
I realize that, without meaning to, I've been watching Jill as she hums along quietly to the music, a contented expression on her face. She looks quite happy. Her hair's come undone a bit, and she has a few stray pieces hanging around her face. I don't think I've ever noticed she has so many little freckles across her nose -  
I blink a bit stupidly as I'm broken out of my reverie by Jill sighing and whispering "Well, there, now."  
For a moment I'm worried she's caught me staring at her like a prat, but her attention is entirely focused on the dance floor behind me. I turn, and am (relieved) surprised to see that only two remaining couples are left - Edmund and Lucy, and Peter and Susan.  
"Oh." Is all I manage to exclaim. "Er - good, then." 

But I am suddenly full of a pounding joy  
as I look at my (kingdom) family before me. A quiet strain of Narnian-sounding music skips across my thoughts, before it fades and blends in with the soft song here. 

Edmund and Lucy are talking quietly and moving slowly, he with his hands round her waist and she with her arms up round his neck. Edmund has also lost his jacket, and I watch as he smiles and pulls gently at one of Lucy's curls, teasing her. Not one to be outdone, she reaches up and musses his hair as well, grinning mischievously. Together they effortlessly carve a weaving, circular pattern across the dance floor. 

Peter has his arms wrapped entirely around Susan, embracing her as she leans her head against his chest, under his chin. They are barely moving at all; swaying slightly from side to side, remaining in almost the same spot. Neither seem exactly happy - both appear more tired than anything else. But they look sort of peaceful. Like they're grateful for this brief moment of (respite) rest.

And I am struck suddenly by the beauty of the balanced equation before me. 

I take Jill's hand - she looks mildly surprised, and jokes "I hope you're not going all soft on me, Scrubb."  
But she smiles, and doesn't twitch her hand away.  
"Wouldn't dream of it." I reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are much loved.


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